


The World Goes On Without Us

by PacketofRedApples



Category: Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Minor Violence, Past Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 17:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17349638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: Raoul finds no will or reason to live, now that Christine is dead. The Phantom, despite himself, proves otherwise.Or: The Phantom convinces he needs Raoul's help to raise Gustave.





	The World Goes On Without Us

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if there are ignorant mistakes, I am fairly new to this fandom thanks to  Kylorens  getting me to watch the ALW version. I intend to watch more of the related content when I find some free time and read the Leroux book, as well. I fully intend to get very much into this, so maybe in the future, I'll write more related things.  
> Hopefully, then I will write things with more knowledge of the source.  
> Regardless, I worked on this since 2019 started and it's my first fic of the year, too! I'm excited to be back on track. Not to say writing smut for my friends wasn't fun, but I do not enjoy it as much as I do with writing angst. And I hope this is angsty enough.  
> Final warning of this-- It is not very slashy in regards to Erik and Raoul, but it does have some moments in it for them. If E/R is not for you I suggest to avoid this, yet as I said-- it's nothing explicit. In which case, you are free to make your own choice.

He drinks. He drinks till there’s a heaviness settling in his body, like a rope tightly bound around his very own torso that squeezes tighter, distracting him from the despair bestowed to him that chose to settle deep in his guts. Till it almost hurts and the world spins until he cannot see straight. But the alcohol, it tries to leave him, fade away. So he drinks more. The psychical aching doesn’t stop, which is a good distraction as any. Raoul de Chagny drinks up to the point of passing out. Upon waking up, he sees nothing stopping him, so he proceeds with it, as if a routine, not thinking of his debts or how they’re growing. Instead, his mind tortures him with thoughts of what had occurred—the very reason he won’t put down the bottle. How the brute who tried to take Christine from him, not only had the audacity to try again—but now took his son, too.

He was in such shock at his wife’s death, staying by her side until they ripped her cold body from his hands that he couldn’t have managed to stop Erik taking Gustave in his own despair, even if he had tried, but now…it was beside the point. The man was alone now.

There was no more of a point to try.

He comes to a thought—why is he even bothering? What is keeping him here? Surely, the church forbids the very concept, but to hell with the church. He had nothing. He was left alone. No one to prevent him, no one to tell him a single word against it. So, on one morning he awakes, grabs a nearby bottle of whiskey and slowly downs its contents but the rumination doesn’t stop.

He was lied to, the boy he raised for ten years as his very own son… was, in fact, not at all his flesh and blood. It was the Ghost’s doing, Christine had been with him behind his back and it makes him wonder about how many other things she had lied to him about. How many more betrayals is he not aware of?

He wonders truly does… but then, he decides there’s no need. Instead, with the newly found courage from the alcohol, he takes the several strides needed to get to the bathroom. There, he takes his straight razor, moves it slightly as if trying to gauge its weight, then looks down at his rolled-up sleeves, revealing his forearms. Moves his arm, glares at the veins. Not yet pressing down, but in preparation, Raoul puts the cool metal to it first.

A voice in the back of his head tells him not to do it, but a crowd of them sings for him to follow through. Reminds, there is no reason for him not to. There’s nothing in this world for him, and now with Gustave missing and Christine dead, there is no debt he’ll leave to them. The sound is harsh and cruel, chanting for him to continue, to press down and cut. Yet a tear runs down his cheek and the single vote wins and he can hear the disappointment.

“Pathetic…” He mutters, as if in unison with the choir. Beginning to sob in broken jagged sounds, leaving him in chunks with his breathing irregular. But eventually, he remembers the Opera Ghost and now, Mister Y…. and the rage overtakes him, but soon falls through, unstable in his own state but then—the face of his son flashes by his eyes, an image that greatly causes pain. And Raoul swallows hard, raising his head look at his reflection.

Red eyes, flushed and wet cheeks, hair unwashed and unkempt for weeks. Clothes stained and wrinkled from sleeping in them.

“Pathetic.” The man repeats as he squeezes the steel object in his hand. He Looks down in preparation to bring up the razor, as something suddenly wraps around him and pulls him back, dropping it from his hand into the sink as he flies back a good foot or two—maybe even three—before falling on his rear, where he ends up losing his balance and then hitting his back and head against the carpet.

Soon enough, he realizes that this time, it is a rope around him and on this occasion, his arms are also wrapped in together. He struggles momentarily while looking down before it occurs to him to look what is behind him. However, Raoul only turns his head when he hears a shuffling, followed by approaching steps towards him.  They are few—he sees that it is none other than the man that sought out to ruin his life, apparently. Or perhaps he unintentionally did this, but it seems he was continuing. Now, the grotesque man wouldn’t even let him take his exit from the chaos.

“I suppose a welcher such as yourself, monsieur, chooses to avoid his debts?”

“I owe you nothing!” He replies with a great deal of anger, mostly stemming from the halted action.

“It is not what you owe me; it is what you owe to Gustave. I have denied him for far too long, he is growing weary. The boy wishes to see you again, yet I cannot fathom why… Suppose, you owe him a sense of normality I cannot provide.”

A silence overtook the scene, as the Vicomte tried to make sense of this.

“You sought me out for your own son’s benefit?” He said, angry. He had been too distraught for the past god knows how many days. It was easier to hate than it was to put it all together. It was a puzzle, to which he didn’t want to put any effort into.

“In technicality, Gustave is our son, monsieur.” The Phantom replied, feeling as much of a bad taste in his mouth from saying that as Raoul felt.

“Release me and we shall talk.” Raoul offered, but it was a lie. He knew the first thing he’d do once released from the lasso would be to attempt to claw the Opera Ghost’s eyes out… or perhaps, he was referred to differently now? And what a mighty fearful title that would be!? Raoul could laugh, he was sure.

However, seemingly the Phantom felt this, or maybe he accounted for it. So, in this case,

“No, we talk now.”

“There is nothing to say, monster. I suggest you leave me be!”

“You fool, your son needs you!”

Raoul gritted his teeth, clenching his fists and attempting to move out of the rope. But it didn’t succeed.

“Release me at once!”

“Only at the point, you agree to go see your son.”

The blond considered this; he would if only the rage was not bubbling inside him. He truly loved Gustave as his true son for a decade; why should that change now? Well, of course, because it was not at all the truth. And his life with Christine never played out as he had imagined… There was no reason why he’d want to see the very personification of the betrayal he experienced.

“He is not my son! Gustave was never my son, he was and is yours!”

The Ghost pulls at the other’s hair from frustration, making him squeeze his eyes shut and hiss out once more.

“If you won’t agree, then I shall take you there by force.” The Phantom lets go of the other and quickly turned him around before Raoul could muster out a proper protest. There, when he has him in the proper position, his arms take place and choke him. Erik squeezes, making sure not to use his full force. Vicomte de Chagny gasps, scrambling to get a grab at the hold, trying to get it off. But it is to no avail. His hands do not even come near.

The Ghost, already having his mouth near the man’s ear (pressuring himself to withstand the reek from the other), takes the moment to offer one last chance.

“Do you agree to go willingly, or must Gustave lose both his parents?” Raoul makes a sound and it is hard to tell what it is, so the Phantom releases him long enough to catch his breath. “Which is it, monsieur?”

“If you recall, that was already my plan.” Raoul spits out in a tone offering nothing more but frustration despite the hoarse voice. Turning to face the man, he observed. The Phantom’s grimace showed no real emotion to this, but the anger burned in his eyes. His yellow eyes were reddened, but that’s as far as they mirrored each other. The once well-tailored suits that were impeccably kept remained so. Not a hint of the pain he must have been going through… _How dare he_ , Raoul thought. After all, the Vicomte was the husband—he was the father—he was the one who was meant to suffer here. Not this grotesque parody of a man. Sure, de Chagny felt sorry for him once, but now? No… Not after all he’s done to him. “I see no point in whatever your plan is, regardless. What do you expect me to do? Has your pride really stooped so low that you managed to allow yourself to grow bored of your very own child? Hand him back in hopes I’d want him?” He attempted to sound nonchalant, but it was difficult, his voice was shaking slightly at the last parts. No, no… he still loved Gustave as his own, even if he was not his offspring. The Phantom, however, lost patience with him.

He lunged forward, grabbing Raoul by his throat and they both lost balance, falling to the ground once more. There, he pressed and pressed—harder than need be. The other started to resemble a fish with its mouth agape and flopping about, which Erik found quite humorous. He couldn’t hold back the laughter. Raoul passed out moments later. As the motion stopped, the Ghost jumped to his feet, observing the damage done. There will be marks in the shape of his fingers, an idea he has come to like. A suitable marking for his nemesis.

* * *

 

Raoul awoke from the discomfort. He felt cold underneath him, assuming he was lying on a hard floor. When his eyes opened, the first sensation was the pain around his neck. He propped himself up against his elbows, coughing; he couldn’t stop despite how much it hurt to do so. Somebody approached, but he only realized it from the hand on his back holding him up and the something cold pressing against his lips. Thankfully it was just a glass of water, which he took, quite ungratefully. He was downing the water intensely, when he looked over to who this was from—upon seeing, he choked on the drink, beginning a new array of hacking sounds, successfully covering himself in water. The Phantom leaned close again, patting him on the back several times in an attempt to help but stopped soon after de Chagny shoos him off, now fully sitting on the floor.

The Ghost took the glass and stood, walking away to place it on a nearby desk. He faces the other, but seconds pass and neither says anything. Eventually, the uncomfortable silence, only interrupted by Raoul’s shallow breathing, is broken.

“Your son should wish to see you now, monsieur.”

Raoul stands from the stone floor, withholding the urge to stretch to lessen the pain in his body. He was not intending to give the other the satisfaction of knowing he was affected. It is when he stands that his head feels light, right before he’s completely on his feet, his skull begins to pound. It is unpleasant and it’s no surprise he cannot withhold the wince.

“Let me correct you, your son.” There’s distaste in the Vicomtes words, as there should be. “Why couldn’t you just let me be?”

“And let you continue to drink yourself into a stupor again. I do not think so, Gustave does not deserve that, nor does he deserve such an insolent father figure.” The once Opera Ghost snarls. “Now, I suggest for you to go see him, Madame Giry has retrieved the boy already. He is waiting.”

“There will be no more stupors, I reassure you.”

“You expect me to take that seriously, monsieur? I simply cannot believe you to be capable of taking your own life.” They both glare at each other. “Go see our son.”

Infuriated, Raoul walks past where the man stood, shouldering him as he goes by.

Upon entering the main room of the apartment, Gustave turned to see him, stared momentarily before lighting up and running to the Vicomte. The young boy instantly jumped at the man, hugging him tightly.

“Father!” He announces, cheerfully, as he had waited for this moment for weeks now. Raoul cringes at this or feigned it at least. He does not hug the child back. “I missed you so, Father!” The little one continues. Erik walks into the room, looking at the scene as Gustave glances up, eyes shining with joy, yet the other man does not respond. He merely stands there as if a marble statue. Frozen on the spot, unflinching and eyes vacant.

“Leave me be, boy… I am not your father.” Finally, there’s an attempt to distance himself from the situation, but it only causes a distressed expression onto the youngster’s face.

“But—“

“Stop this!” Raoul protests again, pushing the child away. Erik cannot take that. In a few quick strides, he approaches the other, grabs him by the shoulders to make the fop look at him.

They both glare at each other, rage burning behind the Phantom’s eyes and pain wallowing in de Chagny’s.

“How dare you—!“It’s a harsh beginning that cuts itself off before softening to silence.

“There was no point to this! What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to stay!”

“Stay? What for?”

“To raise him!”  Raoul could laugh… no. He actually broke out laughing.

“That’s asinine.”

“No. It is asinine that you do not wish to associate with your own son—“

“Stop!” Gustave suddenly cried out, tears rolling down his face. The two men did stop, both looking at looking at him, both lost. Erik steps back, letting go of his rival, unsure of what to do. It’s within seconds that Raoul’s face turns from pity to understanding, kneeling down before the boy. He gently takes him into his arms, looking him over before embracing him. They stay like that for a moment, with the false father comforting him. It seems to last for an eternity, as the Vicomte offers promises to the boy until he stops sobbing and then more. When he is sure the boy has calmed enough, he pulls away, sadly smiling at him. God... He had Christine’s eyes… he is a beautiful young boy.

Raoul hates himself for what he is about to say…

“I’ll stay.” The words come as a relief to Mister Y and he himself breathes easier. Upon opening his eyes from the relieved sigh that escaped him, he saw Raoul looking at him… their eyes lock for only a split second, but The Ghost couldn’t comprehend why it felt good to be on the same page as the insolent fool.

The rest of the evening was spent with both of the de Chagnys together, the father listening to all of what the boy had to tell him about, all the missed details from the last few weeks. Eventually, when the late evening poked its head, the man attempted to persuade the son to go to sleep, which took some convincing and a bit of a harsher tone. The Phantom hadn’t noticed how he had just sat there listening to the two, neglecting his work. But suppose there was no more work to be done since his muse, Christine, left him for good.

There was no doubt the Ghost merely listened for the sign of another outburst towards Gustave, which luckily for the safety of the other man—didn’t come. God knows what The Phantom would have done if he had. Surely, he couldn’t make out most of the words, but it was tone he was listening for. He almost took it upon himself to stand and protest with his son

Once the quiet settled down within the living quarters – that’s when the Phantom snapped out of his odd trance. He stood, and walked to the main room, to see it empty. He then proceeded to his bedroom where now Gustave slept each night, to discover it only had the boy in it.  After this, he rushed from room to room, until he reached the bathroom only to discover Raoul on the floor, attempting to crawl further from him, not managing. He once more held a razor in his hand. Transfixed momentarily, Mister Y is not sure what to do.

It is soon enough that he gets down to his level, putting a hand against the other’s forehead to discover it burning up. It must have been the after effect of the alcohol. Raoul was drenched in sweat; the sight was unsavory, to say the least. A wound on his wrist was swelling, but it wasn’t clear on whether it was deep or not. It is only when he grabs a towel and attempts to wipe the blood off of the man that the other pushes him away, before collapsing and hurdling into as close of a shape of a ball as he could. The Ghost watched this, but fretting Raoul may hurt himself, uses brute force to get him out of that position. Somehow during this process, he finds himself pinning the other to the floor, hands above his head, a weight pressing down on his legs. This was a compromising position, to say the least, but it was not to be paid mind to right now.

“Get off of me!” The protest is duly noted…

Raoul’s shaking seems to hinder every grasp that the Phantom finds. Losing his patience for the millionth time during his entire acquaintanceship with the other, he lets go of one hand and instantly punches the other man. He continues until he is sure the Vicomte has passed out.  Then he pries the razor from his hands, slides it across the floor to make a distance between them and it. Picking up the towel, white once but now stained red, he presses it to the wound, dabbing slightly until it is visible properly.

It wasn’t deep enough to cause real damage, most likely due to the younger one’s incompetence… thankfully.

However, it will require some attention. Frustrated, the Phantom rose from the floor.

So far, this was not going as ideally as he imagined it would have.

* * *

 

The Vicomte awoke, glancing about. He wasn’t in a place he recognized. Head in pain, he winces before trying to raise it, after which he decides it is a failed effort and gives up. He looks around himself, realizing there’s another sharp sensation in his body and looks at his arm—bandaged, yet the cloth on them was bloody. He remembers what he did last, what he attempted, and his eyes become misty.

“Now, now, there is no need to cry, Vicomte.” The familiar voice says, and then Raoul looks at towards its source, frustrated.

“You should have left me where you found me.”

“Yet, I did not. Perhaps a mistake on my behalf, but that is beside the point now.” The phantom said, scowling. “You’re a degenerate, yet you remaining in Gustave’s life is of importance. I fear that I must help you.”

“And how on earth do you assume you will? There is no help, I am very well on my own.”

“The dependence on your vice, the pathetic behavior and sobs tell me a different story, monsieur. I fear you need me, much of the same way Gustave needs you.”

Disgusted by the very notion of needing the once Opera Ghost, Raoul grimaced before he shook his head. Appalled, surely by the very guts, it took to say such a thing. He attempted to stand then from the loveseat he was laid on but was halted by the other man following suit.

“I do not require your help.”

“Fool!” Sternly, the Phantom said. “Your insolence does not permit you to be capable of taking your own life, yet you wish to continue with it suddenly?”

“I do not!”

The other grabs Raoul by his injured wrist forces it up to make the other look at the bloodied bandages.

“Your cuts are not deep enough, nor are they correct! Should I offer you a gun on your way out, Vicomte? Make the matter easier for you?” Raoul presses his mouth into a thin line, glaring at the man before him. “You shall not leave here, do you understand?” Frustration between the two grows stronger.

“I agreed to stay, but your forcefulness to keep me alive will not succeed.” Finally, he has the spitefulness ready to fight back. The anger burning strong. The grasp on him hurts, but it does not diminish the wrath he has prepared for the other.

“You will not take the easy exit, Gustave should not see both of his parents’ corpses,”

Raoul agreed with it, and he hated it. He couldn’t believe this man to be talking sense.

“Then let me go back.”                                                       

“You agreed to stay. I do not take promises lightheartedly.”

Fully defeated, or perhaps exhausted, de Chagny sat back down. The other let go of him.

“Monster, you are not more of a man than I am. You believe you simply can force me to remain here? How will the public react to my sudden disappearance?”

“I already informed what remains of your family and servants that in mourning, you decided to stay here. They thought nothing odd of it. Such importance you must be to them, Vicomte, hm?”

Shocked at this sudden statement, he wide-eyed looked on, past the Phantom, past the horrendous furniture decorating the room.  Focusing on all and nothing. Did they really not care for his return? It must be lies. Yet… Somehow it did not surprise him. It felt true enough. Raoul buried his face in his hands, trying not to cry out in despair over the whole ordeal.

But he couldn’t stop it. Without much sound, the tears rolled from his eyes. When he looked up to fight more, to push past this—the Ghost was no longer there. Seemingly lost interest in him.

Vicomte de Chagny stood fully this time, collecting himself up until he breathed easier. With that established, he walked into the room he laid the boy.

He sat down next to him on the bed. A beautiful boy, so much like his mother and as talented as his real father, luckily with no hint of his madness. Raoul brushed the child’s hair out of his face, smiling sadly.

No… He had to remain for him. Even if it hurt to go on.


End file.
